


you always open petal by petal (myself)

by ohmygodwhy



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Growing Up Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, csa mention, mentioned teen serpents bc really.....can i leave them out of anything???, messy teen feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygodwhy/pseuds/ohmygodwhy
Summary: “So what’re you gonna do?” He asks quietly.Jughead just shrugs, “I’ll figure it out. It doesn’t matter.”“It matters,” Archie says, just because he has to say it at least once.(people change with the times, but some things always stay the same)





	you always open petal by petal (myself)

**Author's Note:**

> 2018 is the year of ignoring canon and loving yourself. 
> 
> saw a gif set of the season 1 archie/jug dynamic and remembered how much i miss it?? don't get me wrong i love the boys drag racing and delivering mysterious crates together, but season one archie/jug gets me every time. like, read any two lines of any of my early pre-serpent rd fics. i'm a predictable bitch. and i've only written four fics that WEREN'T from jug's pov and only one (1) of them was from archie's bc again, im a predicatable bitch!! so im trying again because i feel like i've abandoned my boys. it's also very messy, so. bear with me.

 

When they’re in like fourth grade, maybe fifth, they have to do these little presentations about the history unit they’ve spent the last few weeks on. Archie doesn’t remember what exactly it was about, because it was like seven or eight years ago, but he does remember Jughead’s presentation. He’s pretty sure everyone does.

When Jug’s name was called, he’d walked to the front of the room without anything in his hands but the water bottle he finished drinking on the way there. He held it up and said “ _ this  _ represents justice,” dropped it onto the ground, said, “ _ I’m _ the U.S. government,” stepped on it a few times, kicked it halfway across the room and finished with, “ _ that _ is the current state of the U.S. justice system; and that’s my project,” complete with a little bow and everything. And then just…walked back to his seat. And that had been it. 

The teacher was mad, did the whole  _ pull you outside and whisper-yell at you in the hallway _ thing, but no one had been able to top it. Archie had felt like he lost some competition when he went up with his boring poster board about whatever it was he did his project on. He wasn’t mad though, because Jughead always did stuff like that, and it was pretty funny anyways. Most of the class had thought so, even if Betty tried not to laugh because she didn’t wanna get in trouble. 

Even Reggie had laughed, because he wasn’t as bullyish back when he was like ten. He did call Jughead an arsonist later that same year—so it was fifth grade—and ask if he could burn down the middle school, too, so they wouldn’t have to go next year, but not in a mean spirited way. Jug hadn’t even tried to burn anything down, anyways, even if all the teachers whispered about it after he went away for a few months. No one had really told Archie where he went other than  _ he’s taking a break from school for a while _ and he wasn’t at home, but he came back three or so months later the same person with the same hat, so it didn’t matter that much. 

Looking back, Archie isn’t sure where exactly he had thought Jughead was, but it wasn’t juvie, for some reason. Which was probably stupid, but he doesn’t think he was a very smart kid. Not as smart as Jughead, at least, who always read really big books and corrected teachers in school sometimes. 

So when he finds out years later that his best friend spent three months in a detention center, he shouldn’t be surprised, but he is, for some reason. Even though he’s pretty sure his dad knew where Jug was and had probably told him like, half the truth. It doesn’t help that the sheriff tells him right before he slips in to like,  _ interrogate _ Jughead about Jason’s death like he’s a real actual murder suspect. Just cause he lit a few matches once doesn’t mean he killed somebody. Just cause he lives on the wrong side of town and doesn’t have nice clothes doesn’t mean he’s a criminal. 

The point is, when they’re ten Jughead presents his infamous bottle of justice project and gets a C+ because they were supposed to have a model or a posterboard or something, and a crushed up water bottle didn’t count as a model. He hadn’t seemed too hung up about it, even if he complained a little. Archie had gotten a B on his, but he doesn’t even remember what it was on. He thought it was kinda unfair at the time, but Jughead hadn’t cared, so he put it out of his mind, too. Just told Jughead he thought his project was pretty clever and enjoyed the smile that it got him. 

He slept over that night because it was a Friday. Archie told his dad about Jughead’s project, and his dad said he wished he was there to see it. Jughead did that little smile thing he did whenever Dad did something dad-like and said it was mostly just him being lazy. 

That’s just the kind of person Jughead was. Did things his own way instead of strictly following the rules. Which most teachers didn’t appreciate so much, but he did it anyways. Still got good grades, once they got into the higher years and grades started getting more important. 

Went to juvie for three months and still finished the year with solid C/B averages. 

When they get back from the sheriff’s station—or when FP drives Jughead over later, because Jug still went home with his after the whole ‘an hour and a half late’ fiasco—Archie asks why he didn’t tell him he went to juvie in fifth grade.

Jughead gives him this tired, funny look and says, “I told you about the kid who punched me for not giving him my pudding, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Where exactly did you that story took place? Summer camp?”

“I,” Archie takes a serious moment to think about it, “I don’t know. Not juvie.”

“Your dad didn’t tell you?”

“He probably told me something, but not that.”

“Huh,” Jughead shrugs, doesn’t seem all that hung up about it, “He probably didn’t wanna traumatize you or something—or make you worry too much.”

“I guess so,” Archie agrees.

“You were too innocent for that kind of thing, anyways,” he adds, and Archie hits him with a pillow. 

“Shut up, no I wasn’t.”

Jughead just laughs a little, sounding tired. He wants to say that Jughead was too innocent for that kind of thing, too, but he knows that isn’t true. There’ve always been parts of Jug’s life that he didn’t like talking about, and that Archie knew not to ask about. He doesn’t know why the fact bothers him so much right now. Maybe because it had gone as far as Jughead literally sleeping in a school closet instead of asking Archie or literally anybody else if he could crash for a while. 

He thinks if he had just told him, or told anybody, it would’ve changed the way the summer had gone. It might not have kept Jason alive, but it might have stopped their friendship from being ruined. He also thinks he probably can’t put that on Jughead, and that it might have mostly been him, because his therapist has been helping him sort through what things are his fault and what things aren’t. 

He doesn’t say any of these things, though, because Jughead mainly just looks like he wants to sleep for a few years, and Archie’s pretty tired, too. It’s been a long day. 

 

When they’re in seventh grade, Archie wakes up to a tapping on his window. It pulls him out of his dream slowly at first, until he remembers that there’s no tree near his window so the tapping could be a ghost or something. But it’s just rocks, he sees when he creeps towards the window. Which means it’s just Jughead. He’s thrown shit up at his window since they were little and he wanted to get his attention without knocking on the door and climbing the stairs. Or sneak in at night, sometimes, cause he was weird like that. 

It’s like eleven pm, so it’s probably a sneak in kind of night. Archie pushes the window open and shuffles back to bed. A minute later, Jug jumps in and swings it shut behind him. 

“Hey, Jug,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Hey,” Jug answers, kicking his shoes off and jumping onto the other side of the bed. The mattress bounces a little. 

“What’s up?” He asks. 

He feels more than sees his friend shrug, “Just need a place to stay for the night.” 

That makes Archie look up. Jughead’s head is turned away from him, and his hand is up, like he’s hiding. 

“You okay?” He asks, because Jughead is quiet, but he doesn’t hide. 

“Yeah,” he says, and he doesn’t mean it, Archie can tell. It’s the same kinda voice he used when a kid stomped on his hearing aid in sixth grade. 

Archie flicks the bedside table lamp on, and leans forwards. There’s what looks like the beginnings of a bruise on Jughead’s cheek, up near his left eye. Archie can only see half of it; the rest is hidden under Jug’s fingers, long and curled. 

He asks him what’s wrong, what happened, did he get into a fight? Was it a kid at school? Does he need to go hit someone back? 

Nothing happened, Jughead says, voice small and pitched, no, no, and no, you need to stop fighting my battles for me, Arch, I’m not five. It’s fine. Leave it alone. 

Archie doesn’t leave it alone, because he’s thirteen and stubborn, and Jughead is stubborn, too, and he never tells him anything that he doesn’t think he need to hear, but Archie thinks he needs to hear this. 

Eventually, Jughead huffs and crosses his arms and says, “You know my dad,” he stops, and breathes, “you know he drinks, or whatever.” 

Archie does know this. Even though he doesn’t see FP much anymore and Dad rarely talks about him these days and Jughead spends more time at archies house than Archie does at Jughead’s, he knows FP drinks. Jughead doesn’t talk about it, but he knows. 

“It was your dad?” He asks, hates how small his voice is, like he’s the one who’s hurt. He doesn’t get it, is the thing. How it could happen. Tells him as much. 

“Not everyone has a perfect dad like you do,” he says, neutral and tight, and when Archie doesn’t know how to answer: “Look, it’s not a big deal. Parents do it all the fuckin’ time, it’s nothing new.” 

“You mean he’s done it before?”

Jughead shakes his head a little, looks away like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, “No, are you kidding? He’s never—it’s not. He was drunk, it wasn’t his fault. I’m the one who started it, anyways. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It doesn’t matter?” Archie repeats.

“It doesn’t matter. Listen, I’m sorry I woke you up, I’ll leave in the morning, I just needed a place to sleep,” he curls on his side and says, “I’ll go in the morning,” again, like that’s what Archie’s worried about right now.

“Jug - ”

“Can you please just drop it?” Jughead asks.

His voice is tight and choked up enough that Archie says, “Okay. Sorry.” and then, “Goodnight,” when he doesn’t get anything back.

“Sure,” is all Jughead says, voice muffled in the pillow. Archie wonders if the position hurts his face, but decides not to say anything about it. He falls asleep feeling useless. 

As far as he knows, FP never does it again. Feels real bad about it afterwards, apparently. Shows up the next morning after Dad leaves for work and holds Jughead all tight and whispers stuff Archie doesn’t hear all of but makes Jughead look sad and hopeful all at once, which is something only he could pull off. 

_ I’m sorry _ , Archie hears, standing on the stairs while FP hovers in the doorway.  _ I didn’t mean to, you know I’d never do that on purpose, not with my old man, you know? Never wanted to be like him, god, I’m so sorry, Jug, _ and other things Archie doesn’t hear because he knows he’s not supposed to so he goes to the kitchen instead. 

A few minutes later, Jug sticks his head in and says  _ thanks for letting me crash, Archie _ , and  _ I’ll see you on Monday.  _

_ Sure _ , Archie says,  _ it’s no problem.  _

Jughead gives him that smile he always does when he’s trying to make Archie cheer up, and the door swings shut a few moments later.

When Dad gets home later that day, Archie asks if FP ever got hurt when they were younger. Dad gets really quiet for a long moment, and says, “Did something happen with FP? Did he do something?” 

“No,” Archie lies, and then, because he can never really lie to his dad, “Just something he said. He came to pick up Jug this morning.”

“Jug came over last night?”

“Uh, yeah. He said he needed somewhere to stay over for the night.”

Fred shakes his head a little, a little fond and a little exasperated, “That kid—he’s gonna get himself hurt if he keeps going out too late. Make sure to tell him he doesn’t have to sneak in next time.” 

Archie says he will. It’s not till later that he realizes Dad didn’t answer the question, and he didn’t ask why Jug was over in the first place, either. 

A few years later, in the diner, FP looks at Archie’s dad all soft and longing, and the next day he pushes him away and tells him to fuck off so he can go punch the sheriff or something, and Jug is the only one who can stop him. He hugs him all tight and says sorry, the same way he did in the front doorway the morning after Jug climbed through the window. Jughead accepts his apology the same way, too.

He tries not to seem too relieved when Jughead finally agrees to stay with Archie and his dad for the foreseeable future. Betty looks at him all serious and worried, and he thinks he’s never been good at hiding things. 

 

Freshman year is messy. Mostly because of him, but also because of high school and social status and Archie finally making the football team and Jughead never even trying out because he would never in a million years and Archie would never ask him to. Because high school parties become a thing and Archie gets invited more often than not and Jughead does not. And eventually Archie stops asking if he wants to go because he never says yes anyways, and Archie doesn’t want to be mean, he really really doesn’t, but he knows the other members of the football team would say shit if he brought Jug along with him, because they’re assholes but they’re not completely horrible and Archie still wants to be friends with them. And again, Jughead never wants to come anyways! Always says parties Aren’t His Thing and he’s _not_ _into getting drunk at the tender age of fourteen_. So he just…stops asking. 

And Jughead finds out one night when Dad’s driving him home from Moose’s post-game party and stops to pick Jug up where he’s walking back to his trailer from who knows where. 

He says  _ so I have a question for you,  _ in that hard voice he talks to bullies in that used to scare him sometimes, _ did you not invite me cause you knew I wouldn’t wanna come, or cause people would make fun of you if you brought me with you?  _

Archie doesn’t know what to say, Betty stock still in the front seat, frozen like she’s holding her breath. Jughead looks away and says  _ cool, thanks, good to know, can you let me out here, Mister A?  _

And Archie goes home feeling like trash and they don’t talk for three days and they don’t fit together right anymore. They were always  _ ArchieandJughead _ , since they were six and Jug complained that his name made him sound like he was thirty so they gave him a new one, and suddenly they’re  _ Archie  _ and  _ Jughead _ , separate and different and incompatible. And Archie doesn’t know what to do about it, and then Grundy happens, so he just doesn’t do anything at all. 

He sits across from Jug at his favorite booth at Pop’s a month or two later, the first time they’ve spoken since the day before the Fourth of July, and Archie is talking about stuff he’s never been able to talk about with anyone else but Jughead, because Jug was a good listener and only ever made fun of him a little bit. 

This time, Jughead looks up from his laptop, licks the salt off his fingers and says, “No offense, Archie, but I don’t really care.” 

When Archie just blinks at him—because Jug’s  _ never _ not cared before—he raises his eyebrows and looks at him the same way he looks at Reggie when the two of them spit insults at each other in the cafeteria. “You haven’t talked to me in weeks, and then you expect me to listen to your troubles and woes and what, give you advice? I’m curious, what exactly was your thought process there?”

Because Jughead can be mean when he wants to, when he pushes back with words instead of fists or talks his way into dangerous situations because adults have always said he never knows when to keep his mouth shut. And Archie feels bad, because Jughead knows just how to make him feel bad, but he also feels angry because he’s trying to be nice because Jughead looked very lonely sitting here by himself and Jughead isn’t even trying back. And his music teacher was there when they heard a gunshot and Jason is dead and school starts next week. 

“Whatever, man,” he says, and Jughead just looks back at him, all hard and hurt. “See you next week.” 

He doesn’t see him next week, because Veronica happens. So the next time he sees him isn’t next week, but the week after that, after the first school dance turns out not very fun and he messes things up with Betty even though he asked her to marry him back in second grade. Jug’s in his booth again, and he glances up at him with the same distant look on his face. 

He does offer him advice this time, even though it’s blunt and kind of harsh—but Jughead’s never gone easy on him when he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t tell him things he doesn’t ‘need to hear’, but he doesn’t go easy on him. He’s never been able to stay mad at Archie for long, and he thinks he’s maybe taken that for granted for a while now. Jug eventually forgives him, kind of, so he also thinks he won’t take it for granted again. 

He stays over a few nights after the first football game of the year to help Archie study for the first calc test of the year, and it’s almost easy. It’s almost normal. Jughead asks him about his summer, doesn’t mention Grundy but does hint at it. Archie tells him he’s sorry about their road trip and Jughead says it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. Archie asks him how he’s doing and Jughead answers all vague the way he does when he doesn’t wanna talk about something. 

It surprises him, how easily he can still read him, even though they haven’t talked in so long. How familiar it is. Stilted, and kind of uncomfortable, but familiar. 

Jughead tells him about his job at the drive-in and how cool it is having the best seat in the house, and how Betty asked him if he wanted to work on the school paper with her. When he asks about Jellybean, Jug shrugs and says she’s been cast in the school musical, same as always. When he asks about his dad, he says it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn’t matter—and that’s the thing. It doesn’t matter. The things that matter are the latest horror movie that came out or how funny the way Reggie wears his pants is or some Tarantino commentary or how school dances are part of society’s plans to trick you into conformity or how Archie’s day was and does he need help with that lit essay and is doing okay after the whole G-word situation and everything that doesn’t have to do with Jughead and his home life or how he’s doing. Ask him how he’s been and he’ll say  _ busy _ or  _ surviving _ in a sarcastic way that makes you roll your eyes and move on. Ask him why he’s still wearing that hat and he’ll ask you why you still haven’t learned how to mind your own business yet. He’ll give you his opinions all you want but he won’t talk about himself. Like he doesn’t think it’s the worth the time, or maybe he just doesn’t think it’s important. He’s always had skewed priorities, though he would say the same thing about Archie.    
  
He’s not the kind of person to share easily, even if he’s known your since you were both six and scraping knees on the playground with nothing to worry about. Or maybe Archie was the one with nothing to worry about, and he just hasn’t gotten any more aware of the people around him since he was six. He doesn’t know. That’s just how Jughead is.    
  
He doesn’t unpack at Archie’s for two weeks—takes him two weeks to finally take the closet space Archie offered instead of dragging everything around with him in his backpack. Like he was ready to be kicked out at any minute—like Archie or his dad would ever kick him out. It hurts a little, thinking that Jug doesn’t trust him like that anymore, but he also thinks that it isn’t him as much as it is Jug, and also that he hadn’t done much to inspire trust, lately. But he’s working on it!

He’s had trouble with blame and where to place it, and he’s had trouble with focusing too much on one thing and not paying attention to other people around him. And he’s had trouble with the whole G-word situation—like, accepting it, and accepting what it was, what everyone’s been telling him about it and everything he didn’t want to believe and how guilty his dad had felt. And he missed Jug—he tells him that,  _ I missed you, even though I didn’t think about you, _ and Jughead rolls his eyes but doesn’t seem too offended, because that’s how Archie is and he knows it. So he’s working on it. And Jughead is letting him, and giving him time to do it. He doesn’t treat him like he’s fragile, but he doesn’t treat him like it’s his fault, either.

It takes Jughead two weeks to unpack his things, and Archie comes home to him ripping all of his school notebooks into little pieces and letting them pile up like snow on the carpet because the sheriff scared him so bad that he’s convinced they’ll come knocking on the door to take him away any moment. But they’re both working on it. Things get easier. The air between them feels more comfortable. They don’t fit together the way they used to and he doesn’t know if they ever will, but it’s not a bad dynamic that they have. He’s missed it. Things are different. But he’s missed it. 

 

The thing about Jughead is that Archie can never stay mad at him for long, either. When he finds out FP is a serpent, he’s pissed, but he gets over it because he gets why Jug would be worried about telling him. When he finds out  _ Jug  _ is a serpent, or at least on his way, it’s a little harder. 

Because people have always said that kind of thing about him—that he’d probably grow up to be a drug dealer or a gang member or whatever Southside kids grew up to be. That he wasn’t going anywhere so why waste his time. Asking if he had a drug hookup or if he was the one who graffitied the locker room. Pushed him against lockers and told him to go back to the Southside, even though he’d been going to school with them since they were in fourth grade. He made the principal uncomfortable. 

Archie had always done his best to shut that shit down, because just cause Jug was from the other side of town didn’t mean he was  _ bad _ like that. He wasn’t like his dad. Except maybe now he was; maybe now he is. He’s suddenly friends with the guy who pulled a knife on him and picked a fight with his team. And maybe he’s mad, because Jug always used to say he was scared that those people were right. That he’d turn out like his dad, like he would never get anywhere, never leave this town. 

_ Everyone knew you would end up here, _ he bites out, even though it’s awful and the look on Jug’s face makes him want to cry,  _ Betty knew, and I knew. Have fun with your new friends.  _

The kid who pulled a knife on him just looks all smug and amused, like this is funny, like this is what he expected. Archie doesn’t care, he decides. He’s better than this. Thought Jughead was, too. 

Jughead has always defied expectations. Stepped all over them and laughed like he stepped on the water bottle in fifth grade. He guesses maybe he defied Archie’s this time. 

He looks like shit the next time he sees him, a black eye and a busted lip and rings under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. Archie wonders if that’s his fault. 

The point is he can never stay mad at Jughead for long. He doesn’t like feeling angry, anyways, makes him feel dirty and bad and not like himself, and he’s been feeling it so much lately, angry at the man who shot his dad and angry at the Serpents and angry at  _ Jug  _ of all people, that it’s starting to scare him a little. 

“We can go to the mayor,” he suggests later, and Jughead scoffs and says  _ the same mayor who just arrested all my friends? _ like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. All my friends, he says, like Archie isn’t sitting right there. He wonders if this is how Jug felt back when Archie called Betty his best friend, sitting in this same booth. Betty was his best friend, but so was Jughead. Just in different ways. He kissed Betty in third grade behind the playground and he kissed Jug in middle school up in his treehouse, just to practice, just because he wanted to see what it was like because sometimes he thought maybe he liked boys, too, and he wanted to make sure. 

But those feelings are confusing, so he leaves them alone. He just knows he cares about Jughead and he cares about Betty and he cares about Veronica. He doesn’t get why dating one of them would mean he cares about the other two any less. 

Jughead yells at him about trying to help, and Archie realizes that maybe the kid who got arrested when he was ten and whose friends and family have been criminally profiled because of where they live might have a valid reason not to like the police. Which, okay, maybe he should’ve realized sooner, but it had never  _ mattered _ like this before. Sometimes Jug would glance over his shoulder when the sheriff rode by or would move like he was going to duck under the table when someone slammed a tray down too hard in the cafeteria, but it had never been  _ serious _ like this. Until now. Everything is different, now. 

He helps him deliver a shady crate to their neighboring town because he owes him. Jughead looks so defeated afterwards, and tired, and scared, and he never used to look so scared so often, and he never used to yell at Archie about calling the cops, and Archie suddenly feels so out of his depth. He’s never had to deal with this before. Not with serial killers or drug trades or gangs or the Southside. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. 

Jughead sits across from him the next morning after he calls Archie and tells him he has some shitty news, looking tired and scared but not panicking the way Archie feels like panicking, and Archie thinks that Jughead may not know how to deal with it yet, but it’s not new to him. He’s done it before. Juvie when he was ten, his dad when he was thirteen, school closet when he was fifteen. Archie feels tired just looking at him. 

“Hey,” he says, and Jughead looks up from his half empty shake, “I’m sorry about the other day. What I said.” 

Jughead looks at him for a long moment, and lets out a long breath, “It’s fine,” even thought it’s not, “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t—“

“If Penny sends that video to the sheriff, she’ll bring you down, too. That’s on me.”

“I agreed to help you,” Archie reminds him. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“I’m glad you did,” Archie says, “You need to stop not telling me things.”

“I tell you things.”

“Not bad things. Not about your mom leaving or your dad being a serpent. It’s like you’re afraid I can’t handle them.” 

“It’s not that,” Jughead says, rubbing at his nose the way he does when he’s nervous, “It’s just—you shouldn’t  _ have  _ to handle them. It’s my shit to handle.” 

“You shouldn’t have to handle it by yourself.”

“I always handle it by myself.”

“That’s the problem. You didn’t tell me you were living in a closet until I caught you in the shower. You didn’t tell me about joining the serpents until I caught you hanging with them.” 

“Yeah, you always  _ catch  _ me doing things I don’t want you to see, don’t you?” Jughead says, voice pitched sarcastic and defensive. 

“I just don’t get why you don’t want me to see them.”

“Because you shouldn’t,” Jughead says, sounding exasperated, “Because you always react weird, or get mad or sad or whatever. You act like it’s something unbelievable, but it’s just—how it is.” 

“You joining a gang is just  _ how it is _ ?” 

“Yeah, it is. Everyone knows it. Like you said, everyone’s always known it.”

“Come on, what I said was bullshit.” 

“I dunno,” Jug says, shrugging, “I knew you’d realize eventually, I just…didn’t want you to think bad of me, I guess. You always—act like I’m worth your time or whatever. Didn’t want that to stop.” 

It feels like the most honest thing Jughead’s ever said. It’s also the most sad. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Archie says, grabbing at his hand across the table, holding tight when he tries to jerk away reflexively. “I’m not gonna—you’re not worthless, you’re not—nothing. You’re something, sometimes you’re everything. What the fuck.” 

“Shut up,” Jughead says, “Your dad knows when to quit. You should listen to him.” 

“You’re not ‘dangerous’, jesus.”

“I just roped you into a  _ drug trade _ , Archie.” 

“By accident! You’re not dangerous, or whatever the hell anyone says, you’re  _ Jughead.” _

“And you’re Archie, and you’re stupid.”

“So are you, asshole.”

“Jesus,” Jughead says, and looks down at Archie’s hand grasping his, and doesn't say anything else. 

There’s a long pause. Someone gets up and walks out of the diner, the little bell chiming as the door opens and shuts. He catches Pop’s eye from across the room, and he smiles. Archie’s milkshake is melting, and he hasn’t taken a single sip. 

“So,” he says, and Jughead jumps at the sound, “You really joined the serpents?” 

“Guess I did,” Jughead says. “Got the tattoo and everything.”

“You got a  _ tattoo? _ ” 

“Don’t act all shocked. Your dad has two.” 

“My dad has  _ two? _ I thought he only had one.” 

Despite everything, how tired he looks, Jughead laughs a little, “Oh, there are some stories he has not told you.”

“But he told  _ you _ ?”

“My dad told me. He never shuts up about your dad when he’s drunk.” 

“Oh,” Archie says, vaguely off-put at the thought, “That’s…sweet.”

“It’s really annoying, actually.” 

Archie smiles, “Yeah, I was gonna say.” 

Another pause. He sees the clock tick to midnight on the other side of the diner. Jughead’s hand shifts underneath his, and he realizes he’s still holding on tight enough to hurt. He loosens his grip, but doesn’t pull back quite yet. 

“So what’re you gonna do?” He asks quietly. 

Jughead just shrugs, “I’ll figure it out. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters,” Archie says, just because he has to say it at least once.

“Sure,” Jughead says. “But don’t worry about it.” 

Archie doesn’t say anything else, because there’s nothing else to say. They leave the diner a little past midnight, and Archie feels the ghost of Jughead’s hand under his as he drives home. 

 

When Archie is in sixth grade, Jughead sneaks into his room for the first time, wiggling under the covers and claiming he’s hiding from the government (he’s been watching a lot of spy movies lately, and it’s his favorite thing to say right now). 

A few years before that and Jughead’s still living in his old house, which means sneaking down the stairs on his tiptoes to spend the night telling ghost stories in the treehouse. 

Eighth grade and Jughead tells him to fuck off about the bruise and a few months ago Jughead climbs up and in to talk him through a panic attack and tells him to go to bed already because the guy who shot his dad isn’t gonna come while Jug’s here, and even if he did Vegas would hear him, and Archie’s being more paranoid than  _ him _ which is a real feat. 

A week or two after FP’s release from jail and subsequent ‘retirement’ party, and Archie wakes up to Jughead throwing rocks up at his window. His motorcycle is parked in the driveway, behind the truck, hidden so no one can see it from next door, which Archie almost laughs at. 

It makes him ask why Jughead isn’t crashing at one of his new friends’ house. 

He doesn’t mean it in a mean way, really, but Jughead just says, “Toni’s uncle’s a dick, and Fangs’ foster parents don’t like us.” 

Just because Archie’s tired and stressed, he says, “What about that kid who pulled a knife on me?”

Jughead rolls his eyes, “Sweet Pea doesn’t have the room. I didn’t ask, anyways.” 

“Why not? They’re probably closer.” 

“I can leave if you want,” Jughead says, only half serious, and then says, “I dunno, you’re my first choice. Didn’t feel right not at least trying.” 

“I wouldn’t not let you in.” Archie says, and Jughead just grins a little. Kicks off his shoes and slips his jacket off. The serpent on its back stares up at Archie from where it pools on the floor. 

“Did something happen with your dad?” He asks bluntly, instead of hesitating like he would've a year or two ago.

“No,” and then, “I guess. I did something he’s kinda pissed about.”

“What’s that?”

Jughead looks like he wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter. Stares at him for a minute the way he did back in the diner and sighs, “Got rid of the snake charmer.”

“The lady who caught us on camera?” 

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“Don’t know. I don’t think she’ll be back, but my dad doesn’t agree. He thinks I fucked everything up.” 

“What do your…friends think?” Archie asks, even though he doesn’t want to know or care what Sweet Pea or whoever the hell thinks. He knows Jughead does. 

“They helped me do it, so I think they’re good. I think it’s…I think it’s like a generational gap, or something. Older serpents are scared, and kinda angry. They did put her through law school, I guess. Younger ones are gonna lay low for a bit while they get their shit together.” 

Archie isn’t quite sure what to say to that. It’s weird to hear Jughead talking like this, about this. He talks the same way he would give an in-depth analysis of a new movie he saw, or talk about a conspiracy theory or a lead on the Jason Blossom case back when that was the big thing in their lives they had to worry about. So Archie just says nothing. He doesn’t think he has anything useful to say about it.

“I can go, if you want,” Jughead says again, once the silence has stretched for a bit. 

“Nah,” Archie says, “It’s been forever. You should stay.” 

Jughead crawls under the blanket on the other side of the bed and settles against the wall. Archie tosses him a pillow, and hears the sheets rustle as he lays down. 

“Thanks, Archie. For helping with everything.” 

Archie reaches for his wrist in the dark, finds it and curls his fingers around it the way he used to when they were little, watching a scary moving at the Drive-In in the back of FP’s truck. 

“It’s no problem,” Archie says. 

Jughead says nothing else. 

He leaves the jacket in the bedroom when he makes breakfast the next morning, because he always makes breakfast when he stays over, like he needs to repay them, somehow. Archie never says anything about it, because that’s just how Jughead is. 

Archie eats a whole plate and a half and says they’re the best he’s had in awhile. Jughead still looks very tired, hair ruffled and messy from sleep poking out from under his hat, and the school are merging next week which he already knows will be an absolute shitshow, but he smiles, and that’s good enough for Archie. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> listen class starts again on monday comment to like.....help me get through the semester. happy 2018.


End file.
